


Fear of the Dark

by ThusAtlas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cigarettes, Dark, Dark Draco Malfoy, Dark Hermione Granger, F/M, Horror, I'm not entirely sure what this is, Mysticism, Mythical Beings & Creatures, One Shot, Post-War, in which case, potential multiple chapters, ratings will change and more tags added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29480700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThusAtlas/pseuds/ThusAtlas
Summary: They say that curiosity killed the cat, but then they never finish the saying - which is an annoying fact when one finds themself on a cliffedge.Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25





	Fear of the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO! So, here's a thing that happened and I had to get it out. It could stand as a one-shot, but like with the Fuckening, there's a plot brewing, so if you all are interested, let me know!
> 
> Thank you to Canttouchthis for being the Alpha/beta, guardian angel who was like lightening with this! If you fancy Dark!!!!Hermione check out hers and Leilahmoon's fic: Love is Madness - https://archiveofourown.org/works/28898997/chapters/70897464
> 
> Disclaimer - I own nothing but the ramblings of my mind.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

**Begin**

* * *

When everything is completely silent - still. 

When the hushed breath of the wind is the only indication that the world hasn’t stopped turning.

Under the expansive black of the night sky when the world is asleep, where your only friends are the gleaming eyes that blink in the shadows...

That’s when you can hear it. 

It starts with a hum. A hum that had been heard around the world and through time, for which there is no answer. The more you concentrate on the deep thrumming of the hum, the deeper it settles into your bones. This hum doesn’t behave like any other sound; it twists and writhes through every inch of your body. Your heart begins to beat to a rhythm that you can’t hear. Your fingers and toes tingle, the tips of your ears on fire. 

Next comes the slow build of the instruments, the opening of a symphony. The whisper of the wind through leaves; the patter of nocturnal creatures’ paws, scurrying for their next meal; the steady, higher inhale and the lower exhale of the sleeping world; the brush of cloth against fabric. Then the padded footfall. The occasional twig snapping in the distance from something larger than your average household pet. The symphony is still hushed, hesitant, waiting.

The hum is still there; a background foundation being built upon. Until something breaks - and something always breaks. Whether it’s your patience, or theirs. 

It’ll be a branch too close to be subtle. 

Those gleaming eyes which were once your friend in the darkness have gone. 

The patter of paws now distant. 

The wind which gently played with the nature around you so kindly, now teases your neck, raising the hair there.

The hum - so unrelenting and monotonous. It encompasses everything. The more that you accept the hum, let the hum in, the more the world changes. The night is unkind, unwelcoming at the best of times. Everything is always subdued, quiet, and peaceful under the threatening blanket of darkness.

  
  


It is only when you finally choose to let the hum in, when the gentle night rises to a cacophonous din - that you see the dark for what it truly is. 

But the hum is a poison chalice. When you welcome it into your bones, allow it to sink into your pores, it graces you with the ability to truly see for the first time.

And with that, you see the truth of the dark.

Like any gamed choice, it’s the temptation of secrets that draws you in, no matter what your instincts say. When you truly feel the hum, reverberating through the hollow of your chest, vibrating the veins under the surface of your skin – suddenly the sinister darkness doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore. The terrible invasiveness of the hum quickly turns into something much worse than the unknown of the night – the seductive whisper of a siren’s song. The ancient power and sheer magnitude of the hum, makes hiding in the dark seem like home.

And so like anyone standing on a cliffedge, you have a choice. Do you run? Abandon the symphony, _ the hum _ , and seek shelter wrapped up in your bed, making sure no monsters can reach any overhanging foot? Or do you close your eyes, and take the next step off the edge…

Hermione sat on the doorstep of her backdoor, a cigarette dangling loosely from her lips. Every part of her screamed to run, every muscle, fibre and sinew. She slowly reached with trembling fingers to the cigarette, pulling a desperate draw between her chapped lips as shadows burrowed under her skin. 

Hermione braced against the inevitable and embraced the crescendo that came next. All the sounds that had been so muted before, hit her like a bucket of cold water. The wind that had been gentle like a lover, became demanding and aggressive, possessive of her attention. The pitter-patter of paws over a deadened brush had never ceased, only now, instead of the quiet tympanic symphony, she heard the individual steps of each and everyone as they went about their nightly business. 

Her friends, the blinking gleaming eyes of the neighbour’s cat, were back, and judged her through their silver hew. The padded footfalls that had been so fleeting as they had wandered through the undergrowth increasingly sounded like the heel of hard boots, growing cautiously closer.

Hermione looked away from the gleaming eyes and down to the ground, collecting herself and repeating to herself that she had not gone mad. She had danced this dance with the dark a million times before. Like most children, she had demanded a light at night until she had gone to Hogwarts. She had assumed her fear of the shadows would eventually die down as she grew older - except, year upon year, she learned of new monsters and creatures that waited in the dark. 

And still the hum persisted. Every night. Drawing closer. 

She had spoken with Harry and Ron about it, during their time in the Forest of Dean. She had sought solace in them, as the shadows had crept closer through the trees, fighting with the fickle light of their meager flames. But her friends had just stared blankly back at her, unable to give answers or comfort, completely ignorant to the hum. 

So, after the war, Hermione did what she did best. 

She researched. 

  
  


She turned to look at the floor to her left, where a shadow began to stretch toward her.

Slowly, with her heart in her throat, her pulse pounding in her ears, she followed the shadow until her gaze landed upon the sight of the well-worn leather boots that faltered mid-step.

In months to come, Hermoine would look back on this as the moment she should have stopped all of her research; in that moment, she should have turned tail and run, locked every door behind her and hid in the impenetrable safety of her bed. 

But then...everything's clearer with hindsight.

The leather boots were haphazardly laced, their soles caked in mud. The tall figure was shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to pick out identifiable details. The only thing that she could make out was the silhouette of his face. Wisps of white ruffled hair kissed the stranger’s ghostly sunken cheek, softening his harsh features. His eyes. The familiar reflective gleam from the neighbour’s cat’s eyes were comforting - when they belonged to a cat. The silvery white that flashed dangerously in the stranger’s eyes, starkly juxtaposed his dark silhouette.

The nocturnal symphonic melody was no longer soothing. It was a warning; a beacon call that sounded from every living creature around. The night air was filled with alarm, alerting anyone who would listen of the predator nearby. 

White hot fear sliced down Hermione’s spine. She squeezed her eyes shut as cold sweat beaded on her forehead and neck. She let out a shaky breath between trembling lips as tears pricked in the corner of her eyes. She was frozen with an all encompassing, unadulterated instinctual terror at the sight of this being with his messy leather boots. 

Slowly, she peeked through her lashes, her logic screaming to break through to see if she was hallucinating. After all, every book she had read had just hinted at this myth. There was no evidence to support its existence. 

Her ears pricked at the creak of leather. 

A tender step.

Hermione’s senses were drowning in the hum as she struggled to draw an even breath, the smoke from her still burning cigarette filling the air around her.

Another creak, another step.

Her rational mind fought to comprehend the image of the stranger’s flashing eyes that replayed in her mind’s eye. 

Fight or flight. 

If this was a hallucination, she couldn’t conceivably engage with it - that would be giving into madness and accepting it. 

On the other hand, if it wasn’t a hallucination…

The fear trailed up her spine as she clenched her fists. In a moment of brazen conviction, she pushed through the blanket of terror and snapped open her eyes to face the stranger.

He paused, one foot raised hovering above the ground - another step closer. He slowly dropped it to the ground, his movements deliberate and precise. He cocked his head to the side in a jerky manner, much like a playful puppy, and waited. 

Hermione’s heart threatened to burst from her chest as she stared unabashed at the figure, trying to make sense of the scene before her. 

The hum grew ever louder, deafening as it pressed painfully against her ears, burning through her bones. Her head swayed, her vision blurring as if she had had one too many firewhiskeys.

The stranger’s calm demeanour didn’t reach his inhuman eyes. They were sharp, excited, the skin around them tense. They were a strikingly wizened detail on an otherwise youthful face. A small lopsided grin crept onto his lips, stretching with controlled movements, to eventually give way to an unwelcoming array of pointed teeth.

Hermione’s futureself will look back to that and think up one hundred different things that she could have done that would have changed everything. 

Literally anything. 

Her future self will also look back on this and really question if this was the moment where it all went wrong - if this was where, after everything she had gone through, she finally lost it.

The muscles tensed in her legs and automatically she stood as if she weren’t really in control of her body. She avidly avoided looking in the direction of the stranger, whose eyes burned holes into her back as she stepped into the house. With shaking hands she shut the door, making sure to lock it tight. Without looking back, she walked through the downstairs, leaving on all the lights, banishing the dark from her home. She closed every door behind her, making sure they locked. As if on auto-pilot, she sank into bed, pulling the duvet tight, up to her chin. 

One flickering candle stood alone on her dresser, illuminating a dark corner. She lay still in the shadows of her room for a while, staring at the solemn flame, trying to comprehend what she had just seen. The only rational explanation was that she must have been over-tired, the stress had finally cracked her and therefore, she must have reached the point of exhaustion where one begins to hallucinate. Her heart rate slowed, and gradually her breathing returned to normal.  _ That was it. _ That was the logical explanation. After months of chasing the ghosts, trying to distract herself from the horrors of the war, reading every tome she could find, she was starting to have waking nightmares. 

No matter how much she consoled herself, she was still on edge. Every creak of the old house seemed hostile, leaving the breath to catch in her throat until she repeated the mantra of logical thoughts.

_ …But what if he is still out there? _

Hermione bolted upright and shot out of bed to peer through the curtains. Her windows looked down on where she had smoked and out onto the garden. If the stranger was still out there, she would have been able to see him from where she was - and yet there was no sign of him.

Hermione stayed at her window, straining her eyes for any movement in the dark. It occurred to her in the early hours of the morning that everything was silent - completely silent. No hum, nothing. She watched until the first signs of colour crept into the sky before she left her post. She crumpled onto the sheets, exhausted, confused, and genuinely concerned for her mental health. 

Within seconds of her head touching the pillow, she gave in to sleep. 

Quietly, the hues of dawn lightened the darkness outside just as the lone candle on Hermione’s drawer finally burnt its wick. 

The room was silent. 

The dark was still except for the silvery-white eyes that blinked from the newly darkened corner, watching.

Waiting. 

**Author's Note:**

> How are we? What do we think? Leave as a one-shot or do you want more?
> 
> Kudos is love and comments let me know you're there. Any thoughts and theories?
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ ThusAtlas


End file.
